Be Mine

8. Just Listen To Me

Aakriti’s Pov 

As I slowly regain consciousness, the pounding ache in my head feels unbearable. Despite my closed eyes, I sense someone's gaze upon me, adding to my discomfort. The chilled air from the AC only intensifies the coldness seeping into my already frigid body. My legs are enveloped in something, its texture unfamiliar to me. With a tentative touch, I confirm it's a coat, providing an unexpected warmth against my skin.

Struggling against the haze of faintness, I attempt to pry open my eyes, but the harsh brightness of the room stings, making the effort daunting. Blinking twice, I gradually coaxed my eyes to adjust to the light. The disorientation is palpable, each movement feeling like an uphill battle. Fainting spells aren't new to me; they've been a consequence of my panic attacks, but each time, the process of regaining consciousness feels just as disconcerting. 

As I attempt to sit up on the sofa, my eyes land on Joravar bhai engrossed in his work on the laptop. Despite my parched throat from earlier yelling, I muster the strength to call out to him, but my voice comes out as a hoarse whisper. The sensation of hunger gnaws at my stomach, a reminder of the long stretch without sustenance. Desperation sets in—I need food, and I need it now.

"Aakrti, are you okay? How are you feeling now? Should I call the doctor?" Joravar bhai's concerned voice breaks through my haze, drawing my attention back to the present moment.

Unable to speak, I gesture towards the need for water, and Joravar bhai quickly understands, handing me a glass. With gratitude, I gulp down the entire glass in one swift motion, feeling the cool liquid soothe my dry throat. Relief washes over me, and I silently thank my lucky stars for this small reprieve. 

"I'm fine. I'm just feeling hungry," I manage to say, the words feeling slightly awkward as they escape my lips.

"Wait, I'll order something for you," Joravar bhai says sweetly before leaving the room.

As I inspect the jacket draped over my legs, a sense of curiosity piques my interest. It's not Joravar bhai's jacket; he's wearing his own. Confusion sets in as I wonder whose it could be. Suddenly, my gaze shifts upwards, and I spot him, engrossed in his work with a Bluetooth device in his ear. A realization dawns on me—perhaps it's his jacket after all..

As the pieces fall into place, I realize that the jacket indeed belongs to him. The fact that he's wearing only his shirt confirms it. It hit me then—he must have known about my condition and still chose to leave me alone in this state. A mix of emotions floods over me, from disappointment to frustration. . 

As I reflect on the events, a surge of anger and frustration overwhelms me. The previous incident now seems like a mere prelude to this betrayal. Despite the declarations of love, the actions don't align. How could someone who claims to love me leave me in such a vulnerable state, prioritizing work over my well-being? Doubts gnaw at my mind, casting shadows of uncertainty over the authenticity of his love.

With determination burning within me, I mutter, "Let me teach him a lesson." As I rise from the sofa, I slip into my heels, cursing them silently. These heels have always been a source of discomfort, a painful reminder of societal expectations.

Fueled by a mixture of anger and determination, I snatched his jacket unapologetically before storming out of my cabin. With each step, my heels echo loudly in the hallway, amplifying my resolve. As I reach his cabin, I swing the door open without a hint of hesitation or courtesy, my voice cutting through the air with intensity. 

In the heat of my anger, I momentarily forget the professional hierarchy—he is my boss after all. But at this moment, I'm not thinking about titles or positions; my emotions override any sense of decorum. Deep down, I know that regardless of our roles at work, I hold a different kind of power over him—the power in his heart.